


10373

by lyryk (s_k)



Series: Pleiades [1]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Space, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timestamp: how they first met.</p><p>Rated R for adult concepts (references to prison rape - not between Jack and James).</p>
            </blockquote>





	10373

_I was standing on the edge of the roof, and I could feel nothingness under my heels. The ground was over six hundred feet away, and gravity beckoned. The man in front of me was tall and dark-haired, and the moonlight made the green of his eyes even more emphatic._

 

\--

 

It had started three weeks earlier, when Jack had finally found himself clapped in irons. He couldn’t say he was really surprised since it had to happen sooner or later, but it was the first time that he had officially seen the inside of a prison, and it wasn’t pretty. They gave him a blue prison uniform to wear with a number stitched into the front. In prison there were no names, and no identities.

Jack was in a maximum-security facility, and quickly realised that escape would be easier thought of than achieved. This wing of Fort Charles’s infamous dungeons was reserved for the worst offenders, and a more unpleasant lot he’d rarely seen. The dungeons stretched for miles under the ground, their walls reinforced with steel and electric current. There were around fifty prisoners in the maximum-security wing, and all of them wore heavy metal boots that could be used to clamp them to the floor, or electrocute them if necessary.

For the first few days, Jack tried very hard not to let despair set in. He refused to believe he was really in there for the rest of his life; like many others, he’d been sent straight to prison after his arrest, without a trial. He passed the first week cheering himself with thoughts of the _Pearl_ , even though he was pretty sure Anamaria would keep to the Code rather than come to his rescue. Although part of him couldn’t help hoping that she would, he was fairly certain he was on his own.

The taste of sailing was something he’d discovered at an early age. It became the taste of seduction for him. It became the taste of freedom, freedom from everything that he longed to get away from. He’d first discovered sailing with ships at sea, although most of his sailing as an adult had been through space. He’d visited more worlds than he could count, and each new destination had only fuelled his thirst for more wandering. The _Black Pearl_ , once he’d found her, had quickly become his home. He’d been away from her for days now, and it felt as if part of him had been torn away. 

He’d come to think of the universe as a lover, as someone who did for his soul what sex could do for his body. The universe had written itself on him, left its mark on him. It was the worst sort of lover: the kind who wraps you around their little finger, twirls you around like a ring, and leaves you helplessly in love. You never blame that kind of lover, because it’s all your fault. It’s always your fault. For being presumptuous, for being hubristic, for believing you meant something, for believing you could trust something. Jack had always thought he could trust the universe, until the day he was caught, and his freedom vanished without a trace.

But Captain Jack Sparrow wasn’t the sort to sit around grieving about something, even if he did sit for a while licking his wounds. And all that while he was in a damned prison miles underground. For all he knew, he’d never see the light of day again. Things were only going to get worse.

 

\--

 

The inmates were all assigned specific tasks, and Jack’s first appointment was at the kitchens. Trouble began to brew the very first week that he was there. He’d known that some kind of trouble would be inevitable, but he hadn’t expected it to start so soon. One of the nasties he’d already started watching out for was a man named Brock, who was easily twice Jack’s width and at least half a head taller than him. He was a pirate as well, and their paths had crossed more than once in the past. As luck would have it, they were both assigned to galley duty, as were several of Brock’s minions.

Brock didn’t waste much time. One morning as Jack was loading plates into one of the sinks, he felt large hands clamp down on his shoulders from behind.

‘Well, look what we have here,’ he said loudly, yanking Jack back against him and holding him in place. His gang laughed, and Jack knew there was no help from that quarter. He’d thwarted too many of their operations for Brock or any of his former crew to be anything less than hostile toward him, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to physical molestation. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

Jack said the first thing that came to mind. ‘I’m sorry to break it to you, mate, but I’m already spoken for.’

Brock laughed in Jack’s ear. ‘You’re lying, little pirate.’ His raked his fingernails across Jack’s back through his shirt, and it was all Jack could do not to shudder in revulsion.

‘Is there a problem here?’ One of the red-uniformed security guards stopped in front of them, frowning. His outfit clashed horribly with his red hair.

Brock thumped Jack on the back, grinning. ‘Just giving our little buddy here a warm welcome, Officer Gillette.’

The officer’s frown deepened. ‘No physical contact with other inmates, Brock. You know the rules,’ he snapped before moving away.

‘I’m gonna get you tonight, when there aren’t any guards around,’ Brock whispered into Jack’s ear as soon as Gillette’s back was turned. Jack almost laughed at the threat, despite the shiver that ran down his spine.

Brock and his cronies returned to work, and Jack watched Gillette as he returned to his dishes, more to keep his mind off things than out of any real interest. His interest did flicker, though, when the officer stopped next to one of the metal tables, where one of the prisoners was sitting with a book. Jack had noticed him before; it was hard not to. He was long-limbed and over six feet tall, with shaggy dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Jack had never heard him speak a word and most of the other inmates left him alone, leading Jack to believe that his crimes were more notorious than his quiet demeanour implied. He was almost always with a book at meal-times, and Jack saw that today he was reading _A Farewell to Arms_. Jack was somewhat interested to see Gillette bend his head and exchange a few words with him. Hemingway glanced up at Jack for a second before turning his attention back to the officer. It struck Jack then that the tall man had been seated there the whole time, and he wondered briefly if it had been Hemingway who had alerted Gillette to break up what Brock had started.

 

\--

 

Since Jack wasn’t required to work in the evenings, he retreated to the library. He liked the sound of silence and the smell of books, so he couldn’t smell his own despair. The only recreation rooms were the library and the gymnasium, and as it was the latter where the other prisoners went to burn their frustration when they weren’t at work, Jack stayed away from the place.

Night couldn’t have come late enough for him, but there was nothing for it but go back to the sleeping area and hope that Brock had forgotten his threat. It was a vain hope, of course. The moment he entered the corridor leading to the cells where they were locked up for the night, he found himself spun around and slammed against the wall, and Brock twisted his arm up between his shoulder blades. Jack clenched his teeth against the pain, determined not to give Brock the satisfaction of making a sound.

‘Feeling more obedient now, Sparrow?’ he sneered. He was surrounded by his crew as usual, and Jack was outnumbered six to one.

‘You don’t want to be doing this, Brock,’ Jack said into the wall, his voice muffled.

Brock's men laughed, and Brock twisted Jack’s arm even further as his beefy tongue licked the side of Jack’s face. ‘I can do anything I want to you, bitch,’ he snarled.

Jack turned his head to look him in the eyes, his own eyes almost beginning to water because of the pain from his bent arm. ‘Get your hands off me.’

Brock’s only response to Jack’s words was to twist his arm even more viciously, his other hand grabbing Jack’s hair. ‘Such a pretty whore,’ he sneered, eliciting more laughs.

‘Leave him alone,’ a soft voice said from behind them. Jack turned his head to find the inmate who’d been reading Hemingway leaning against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Jack noticed the number on his shirt: 10373.

‘So you speak, do you?’ Brock said sneeringly, but Jack could sense apprehension in his voice.

The other man nodded toward Jack. ‘He’s mine, Brock. I don’t want to see you near him again.’

This was the first time Jack had seen how these things worked, and he was stunned when Brock turned to him and snapped, ‘Is this true?’

Jack glanced quickly at prisoner number 10373, who stared back calmly at him. Jack nodded, and Brock cursed, shoved Jack away from him, and spat at the floor.

If Jack had been stunned at Brock’s behaviour, he was speechless at what happened next. The door to the toilet stalls was next to them; the tall man grabbed Jack by the arm, kicked the door open, and shoved Jack through it hard, so that he landed on the floor. Jack turned over on to his back as quickly as possible, prepared to defend himself as best he could, but Hemingway was already towering over him, after having slammed the door behind them.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said very quietly as he bolted the door. Jack sprang to his feet in the moment that his back was turned, but he’d turned around again before Jack could make a move.

‘Sorry about what, exactly?’ Jack snapped, furious with the universe in general and himself in particular, wondering if he’d just stepped from the frying pan into the fire.

‘For being rough with you.’ He glanced quickly at Jack, as if surprised at his question. ‘Is your arm all right? I thought the bastard was going to rip it off.’

‘It’s fine,’ Jack lied.

Hemingway looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, ‘You can relax, Captain Sparrow. I’m not going to hurt you.’

Jack nodded, and held out his hand. ‘I guess thanks are in order, then.’

‘None required,’ he said quickly, but shook Jack’s hand with a firm grip.

‘I’m guessing we need to spend a few minutes in here?’

‘At least a few, yes,’ he said, a faint smile playing around his lips. ‘For, you know, appearances’ sake.’

‘Right.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘How d’you know who I am?’

He shrugged. ‘Brock called you Sparrow. There aren’t too many people around with that name, and you’re, well, famous.’

Jack felt himself beginning to relax a little. The man’s attitude seemed completely guileless, almost surprisingly so for someone in a maximum-security prison. ‘And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?’

‘I’d just as soon not say,’ the other grinned, the gesture transforming his face and making him seem years younger. ‘But you can call me James, if you like.’

Jack shrugged. ‘James it is, then. So what’re you in here for, James?’

‘Let’s just say I’m a spy.’

‘Don’t they shoot spies on sight, rather than arrest them?’

‘You ask too many questions, Mr Sparrow,’ he said absently, glancing at his watch before looking up at Jack again. ‘Untie your hair, and mess yourself up a bit.’

‘Captain,’ Jack corrected as he shook his hair free from its ponytail. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a pair of scissors handy, would you? I’d just as soon cut this off.’

‘Because of what Brock said?’ James asked shrewdly. Jack scowled at him as he ripped a couple of buttons off his shirt, and James laughed. ‘Keep the hair, Jack. It looks good on you.’ He smiled swiftly, and was gone before Jack could think of a response.

 

\--

 

_I was on the Pearl again, and the cosmos was jewelled around us as we sped through the darkness of space. In dreams, I was free again, and the universe was my playground again. In dreams, I had faith again._

_Somewhat to my surprise, life in prison, having started out with such bleakness, began to inch toward something brighter again. At the time, I still had no idea why. In hindsight, it could not have been more obvious._

 

\--

 

The next week passed by without Brock so much as glancing in Jack’s direction. Clearly, the enigmatic James had more influence than Jack had expected. When he tried asking around about James, some of the other prisoners told him stories that were ludicrous. A nervous-looking man named Ragetti told Jack that James had killed over twenty people, all of them with his bare hands because they were deadlier than weapons. Others claimed that he had once been a multi-millionaire who had lost all his money gambling in a single night, and had turned to a life of crime. He didn’t seem to have been in prison for very long, and no one seemed to know his name.

They hadn’t spoken more than a few passing words to each other since the incident in the corridor, so when Jack saw James in the library one evening, he went up to his table.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Jack pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘Seems as if you already have,’ James said dryly, but his eyes sparkled with good humour.

Taking that as a good sign, Jack went on. ‘Let’s play a game of pretend. Let’s pretend this is a bar, and we’re two strangers who just bumped into each other.’

James laughed softly. ‘You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Jack grinned at him. ‘But I also want to get to know you better.’

‘Fire away, then.’

‘So, James, what do you do for a living?’

He smiled. ‘I’m, let’s see... a researcher.’

‘Excellent. And what do you research?’

‘I’ve been fascinated with pirate ships ever since I was a child, like most children. It made sense to turn a childhood obsession into a research topic.’

Jack laughed. ‘And are there any specific pirate ships you’re interested in?’ Looking up into James’s face as he waited for him to answer, Jack discovered that his eyes were a startling shade of green, almost the colour of the ocean that had helped Jack survive his childhood.

‘Well, yes and no,’ James said seriously, almost as if they were actually in a bar having a conversation. ‘I think ships have played very significant roles throughout the last few centuries, especially in terms of trade.’

‘Trade?’ Jack grinned. ‘Do you mean smuggling?’

‘Well, that too,’ James laughed. ‘I must confess, though, that I’m a bit of a Marxist at heart. I tend to think everything can be brought down to economics.’

Jack lifted an eyebrow. ‘Everything?’

James nodded. ‘I won’t argue the point, of course—one could just as easily make a case against it. But everything—wars, terrorism, the choices we make about what to do and where to live and where to work, it all comes down to economics, doesn’t it?’

‘What about this research of yours? You called it an obsession. What’s economic about that?’ Jack grinned. ‘Unless someone’s giving you a shipload of money to study pirate ships.’

James laughed. ‘Maybe they are. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.’

They talked for over an hour, during which Jack really did forget that they were in a prison. When the conversation became so stimulating that he found himself wondering what James would taste like if he kissed him, Jack excused himself and fled.

 

\-- 

 

_Recovering lost faith is never easy. The universe and I had drifted away from each other since I had lost my faith, but I was now beginning to see a glimmer of what I had lost. I couldn’t explain it, because I was still locked up, and it had been almost three weeks now since I had been imprisoned in the dungeons of Fort Charles. And yet I was beginning to feel a faint stirring of hope inside me, like the interlude to a melody, like something felt rather than heard, which foreshadows what is to come._

_I know now what it was. I know it was him; he had reawakened something inside me that I thought had died. It started slowly, as if I could finally taste water after being lost in the desert for an eternity._

 

\--

 

Just when Jack had started to feel there was hope, James disappeared.

Jack told himself that there was a logical reason for his absence. Maybe he had been released, or transferred to another facility. It wasn’t as if he’d been obliged to let Jack know; after all, they’d barely known each other a couple of weeks.

The worst fear that Jack had one was he couldn’t voice to himself at the time. Just as Jack had been imprisoned without a trial, there were others who’d been executed without trial or reason. The political climate on Earth after the War was desperate, with governments making examples out of prisoners at times, or merely killing people when there was no more room in the prisons. On the second day of James’s absence, Jack couldn’t stand it anymore and went to Officer Gillette, after making sure that Brock and his crew were out of earshot.

‘Where’s James?’

Gillette kept his voice low while answering Jack. ‘He won’t be back, but don’t worry. We’re keeping an eye on Brock and his men, and we’ll get them at the first sign of trouble.’

‘Maybe I didn’t ask the right question. Is James all right?’

‘Oh. Yes, of course he is.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘He’s been transferred.’

‘Where? Why?’

‘Mr Sparrow, I don’t believe I’m obliged to answer your questions. Now, if you’ll excuse me—’

Jack caught his arm. ‘Gillette, listen to me. I believe there’s trouble brewing.’

‘What kind of trouble?’ he whispered, impatient.

‘I think some of the inmates are planning a breakout. Now, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell don’t want the likes of Brock out there again.’

Gillette frowned. ‘And just how do you know this?’

Jack shrugged. ‘Call it intuition.’

Gillette studied his face carefully for a moment. ‘Very well. I’ll remember what you’ve said, but don’t expect me to act on it without proof.’

 

\--

 

_It had been one of the most difficult decisions I had ever made, to tell Gillette what I suspected about Brock and his men. There were pirates like me, and there were pirates like Hector Barbossa, and then there were pirates like Brock. They were the vilest of the vile, killing because they enjoyed it, crushing the life out of people and places, destroying without qualms, spreading blackness and poison throughout the universe that I had come to love so much. I hated them more than I hated the likes of Beckett. As much as I wanted my freedom back—my Pearl back—I wanted more for people like Brock to be locked up forever._

_And then there was James. James, who had helped me, expecting nothing in return. No one had ever done anything for me before without wanting something from me in return. I was looking at the universe differently now. I was looking at it as a form of give-and-take, where you took something and gave something back in return. Already it seemed as if there were dimensions to the universe that I had not seen before, because a single act of selflessness had altered my universe._

 

\--

 

When Jack awoke that night with someone’s hand clamped tightly over his mouth, his first thought was that Brock had decided to exact his revenge on him after all.

‘Sshh. It’s just me.’ 

‘James? James!’ Still half-asleep, Jack threw his arms around the man, squeezing him tightly.

James let out a soft laugh. ‘It’s good to see you too, Jack.’

‘Are you all right?’ Jack pulled back and gazed his fill. James looked good; even better than before, if that were possible. His face was clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed.

‘I’m fine. Have _you_ been okay?’ Jack nodded, and James’s expression cleared. ‘Come on. We need to get you out of here.’

 

\-- 

 

They went down a long corridor and into an area where the prisoners weren’t allowed, James entering a code on the door to unlock it. They stepped out into a narrower corridor, and James hurried Jack toward a lift, his hand on the small of Jack’s back. Jack went without a word.

They emerged into the cold night air, and Jack realised they were on the roof of the prison building. He’d seen it before from the air; it was one of the tallest on the planet. 

James went down on one knee to remove his backpack and pull something out of it. ‘Hurry,’ he said, shoving a parachute into Jack’s hands. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t find a better way.’ 

Jack looked down at him. ‘You aren’t a prisoner.’ He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to figure it out, but it all seemed to fit now.

‘No,’ James said simply, and Jack could have sworn he saw that faint smile playing around the corners of James’s mouth again.

‘Who are you?’

‘A friend, if that will suffice for now.’ He half-turned his head as footsteps sounded in the distance. ‘You must leave, or we’ll both have hell to pay.’

Jack quickly put on the parachute and stepped closer to the edge. ‘At least tell me your name, so that I can find you again.’

James raised an eyebrow. ‘That would imply that we have unfinished business.’

‘I think we do.’ Jack made up his mind in an instant, leaning forward to rest his hands on James’s shoulders and pressing his lips to James’s. James’s eyes closed, perhaps involuntarily, and Jack’s followed an instant later. He felt James’s hands on his waist, the metal of his gun cold against Jack’s side even through his shirt. James tasted like heaven, and for a moment Jack felt both heady and unworthy. He pulled back a little, pressing his forehead to James’s. ‘Please?’ he murmured against James’s lips.

‘Norrington,’ James said, his arms still around Jack’s waist. ‘James Norrington.’

‘ _Commander_ Norrington? The _pirate hunter_?’ Jack would have fallen off the roof then if it hadn’t been for James’s arms. ‘Then why? Why are you letting me go?’

‘They were going to execute you. Without a trial, as they have so many others.’ 

‘Oh.’ There wasn’t much that Jack could think of to say to that.

James gave him a sudden grin. ‘Off with you, Captain Sparrow. This is neither the time nor the place to be exchanging stories.’

‘Then we’ll find a time and place that is. Do we have an accord?’

‘Agreed.’ James bent his head and brushed his lips against Jack’s again, briefly, sweetly.

Jack flashed him a grin, turned around, and stepped into the void. Long before he felt the tug of his parachute opening above him, he felt as if he was floating, and the stars around him seemed to glitter in approval.


End file.
